


"The Disconnect"

by a_carnal_mink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:30:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_carnal_mink/pseuds/a_carnal_mink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There were probably a million things not right about this relationship and maybe only a couple that weren't entirely wrong, but Dean felt like they just might be able to make it."  The latter half of s2 - Dean's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"The Disconnect"

**Author's Note:**

> Website: [weltonbmarsland.com](https://weltonbmarsland.com/)

  
'Just leave it, Dean. I can do it myself!'

'The hell you can. Bathroom. Now!'

Sam seemed to get halfway through an exasperated, put-upon sigh before it changed into a hiss of pain and his right hand went automatically to the wound on his leg. 'Yeah, I… okay.' Admitting defeat, he hobbled toward the dingy bathroom and flicked the light on.

Dammit. Dean threw the weapons bag onto one of the beds and shrugged out of his leather jacket. Damn, shit, fuck and FUCK. He'd taken his eyes off the prize just half a second – half a freakin' second! – and he let Sammy take a hit like that. He dug around in his duffel and pulled out the med kit and the emergency vodka.

'I think my jeans are ruined,' Sam bitched from the bathroom.

 _Just so long as your leg's alright._ Dean kept the remark to himself as he joined his little brother, immediately handing the bottle of vodka over. 'Get started on that,' he ordered. Sam took the bottle obediently and twisted the top off, leaning out of Dean's way a little so that Dean could fill the basin with water and throw a washcloth and a towel into it.

Shit, there was a lot of blood. The wound was on the outer edge of Sam's right thigh. The slash in his jeans was about three inches; if they were lucky, the gash below might only be a couple. Dean made a tentative move toward Sam's belt buckle then pulled back. There's just some things a dude should be left to do for himself.

Sam choked a bit on a gulp of medicinal vodka. 'Um,' he coughed. 'I'll just – ' Still holding the bottle in his left hand, Sam reached down with his right and deftly snapped his buckle open one-handed. 'I think the blood's stuck the denim in there a bit.' He winced as he unzipped his fly and let his jeans fall down a little way. He brought the bottle back up to his mouth and tipped about a quarter of its contents down his throat in one go.

'I can take it from here, bro. Just, just try to relax, I guess.' Dean crouched down in front of Sam and looked up at his face. 'Lean back against the basin a bit. There ya go.' Gently, Dean managed to peel the blood-soaked denim away from the damaged skin beneath. 'Why are poltergeists always so horny for knife play anyway, huh?' he asked rhetorically, just feeling the need to chat inanely while he worked. 'None of them ever get enough kink-fests while they were alive or what? They gotta go shaking teenage girls' beds and molesting businessmen in the shower and shit? I don't get it, man.'

'They're just angry, I guess,' Sam slurred from above. He was passively watching Dean clean his wound, periodically taking another swig from the vodka bottle. 'How drunk d'you want me to be?'

Dean glanced up briefly before re-focussing on his task. 'Drunk enough. I'm gonna have to stitch this.' He glanced up again. 'Sorry, dude.'

Sam shrugged broad shoulders and took another healthy dose of liquid anaesthesia. 'S'alright. You always do a good job.'

 _Unfortunately I've had lots of practice,_ Dean didn't say out loud. Finished with the cleaning, he threw the now thoroughly red cloths into the basin and got a good look at the jagged line carved into his brother's leg. Bastard spooks. 'Probably only need four or five,' he told Sam hopefully. 'Coulda been a lot worse.'

Sam nodded heavily and licked his bottom lip. Seemed to be about three sheets to the wind already. Good. Dean tore a new needle and suture thread from their sterile packages and threaded them together easily; his hands never shook when there was work to do.

The muscles of Sam's thigh spasmed at the first needle prick and Dean scooted a little closer across the tiled floor, trying to touch as much of Sam's leg as he could while he worked. Touch was a grounding force, their Dad had always told them. That's why you pat a horse's flank while walking around it, why you hold your baby brother's hand while crossing a road, how you console a crying woman, how you distract a wounded comrade while patching him up… Dean made sure to rest the heels of his hands firmly upon Sam's skin while his fingers worked at holding the slashed skin together and putting the sutures in. After the first couple, he was able to splay his left hand out a little further, fingers tacky with his brother's blood, pressing warmth and reassurance across Sam's thigh as best he could.

'Doing good, Sammy. Just a couple more.'

In response, Sam made a sorta strangled grunt, almost as though he had something else he'd like to say to that, but he was wilfully holding it back. Dean looked up for a second and gave him a short nod and a bit of a smile. Bowing his head again to finish working, Dean's gaze flickered briefly down the long line of Sam's torso and his brain registered something he immediately wished it hadn't. Sam's boxers were tented at the front. Dude.

Dean wasn't the panicking sort. He was always able to calm himself and keep his cool in all manner of situations. That didn't stop his mouth from drying momentarily though, or his fingers from getting a little twitchy. Great. Just fucking great. Dean focussed steadfastly on the knife wound and finished patching it as quickly and efficiently as he could, needle flying through Sam's flesh with disturbing ease.

At any other time, Dean would probably have leaned in when finished and snap the thread with his teeth. Tonight, he fumbled in the med kit for the scissors and snipped the excess away. Feeling like a bit of a bastard and a little less than the most awesome brother on the planet, he then left Sam to finish cleaning himself up on his own.

 

  
'So, er. About before.'

Sam was quiet in the other bed for a few moments and then, softly, 'What about before?'

Dean breathed out slowly, staring up at the ceiling and blinking into the almost-darkness of their motel room a couple of times. 'Maybe I shouldn't mention it or anything, but… you know. Maybe I should.'

'Maybe you should what? Dean?'

Dean lifted his arms to his pillow and folded his hands under the back of his head. 'It's this fuckin' job, man. I get that. Honest, I do. It can get to people, I guess. They get so used to the lifestyle or something, they start… getting off on it. The adrenaline of it, the scares. The pain, even. Sometimes.'

There was the rustle of bedclothes as Sam moved about, no doubt turning onto his side to throw a confused stare at the dark silhouette of Dean three feet away in the other bed. 'What the hell are you on about?'

'I don't want it to get to you like that, Sam. Don't want this job twisting you or nothing. Spoiling you…'

'The fuck?!' Sam's voice rose up a fraction or two on the end of his question. 'How do you figure that I'm getting twisted or got at or whatever, Dean? A poltergeist threw a friggin' carving knife at me! How on earth is that proof of _me_ being twisted?'

Dean swallowed uncomfortably. His little brother was actually gonna make him say it, wasn't he? Force him to say the words out loud? 'You were hard,' he mumbled at the ceiling.

'Huh?!'

Fuck it. Dean raised his voice a couple of decibels. 'You were hard, Sam! While I was sewing you back together, for chrissake!' Shaking off all pretence of being able to get to sleep anytime soon, Dean threw aside his blankets and sat up, turning side-on enough to be able to address Sam's bed. 'Look, I'm not angry about it, okay?'

'Oh, thanks,' Sam threw back sarcastically.

'I'm just worried, bro! Worried this is all starting to get to you – '

'Dean.'

'And I'm not gonna let it do that, okay?'

'Dean!'

'What?'

Sam sighed loudly, still sounding vaguely pissed off. 'It wasn't that. Alright? If I promise you it was nothing to do with the job "getting to me" or "twisting me" or whatever – will that make you shut the hell up about it?'

There was silence while Dean frowned into the nearly-dark, trying to work out how on earth he was supposed to answer that one correctly.

'Dean? It's not the job. Okay? It's not the pain or the adrenaline or the thrills or whatever. I promise you. You can stop worrying now.'

Dean could feel his frown get deeper while his brain raced, trying to figure out the logic of whatever the fuck Sam was trying to tell him. Frowning into the darkness wasn't getting him any answers though. Haltingly, he tried to clarify the one bit of logic his mind seemed able to grasp out of what Sam was saying. If it wasn't the job… 'So, um,' he paused a second. 'You're saying you've… _always_ got off on this stuff?'

Sam made an exasperated noise and struggled to sit up in bed, his right leg obviously still making him sluggish. There was the thudding sound of his hands thumping onto the mattress, as though he'd raised them in an attempt to make some gesture or gesticulation but then realised the futility of doing so in the dark. 'It was intimate,' he ground out, his voice practically a growl.

'Intim – ' Dean's brain went into slow-mo. 'The fuck?!'

'Intimate, Dean. You know, intimacy?' Sam sounded almost angry now, though if he was angry at Dean for dragging this admission out of him, or at himself for having to admit it, or at the situation for arising in the first place, Dean couldn't tell. 'It was hands on me. Hands on my thighs. It was – ' He stopped and swallowed loudly. 'It was – '

'It was ME!' Dean spluttered. 'It was ME, STICKING A GODDAMN NEEDLE THROUGH YOUR FUCKING FLESH, SAM! What the FUCK are you saying?'

'I'm saying it's been a long time since anyone but me had their hand on my bare thigh.' Sam's voice was so quiet, almost broken sounding. 'Not since Jess.'

And Dean's heart clenched a little bit for his brother at that. Sam sounded beaten down. Embarrassed. Humiliated. Desperate. Resigned. All of that, all at once.

'Aw, hell. Sammy.'

'Don't, okay? Just don't feel all sorry for me and shit. I don't want that. I'm an adult, I'll deal. Look, I'm sorry you saw me in that state, alright? And I'm sorry that it worried you or embarrassed you or whatever the fuck else. Okay?'

Dean swung his legs over the edge of bed and planted his feet on the floor. He almost reached out to turn the bedside lamp on, but then thought better of it. Sometimes it was just easier to say all this kind of stuff in the dark. He shivered a little, sitting there in just a tshirt and boxer shorts in the cold Colorado night, but ignored it. 'Sam… Shit, dude. When I tell you I think you need to get laid, I'm not just teasing, okay? I really think you gotta do something about it. This is obviously starting to be a real problem here.'

'You think I don't realise that?' Sam sighed heavily. At least when he spoke next, most of the edge seemed to have drained away from his voice. 'I know you're right about this one. And I agree, okay? Like I said, it's been too long.' He made a noise like a short laugh at himself. 'Obviously. I didn't mean to let it happen in front of you like that. My body just reacted, I guess. I'm sorry, Dean.'

'Don't apologise,' Dean muttered, running a hand over his face in agitation. How fucked up were these lives of theirs, huh? 'S'not your fault.'

'But if I – '

'It's not your fault, Sam,' Dean repeated firmly.

'Fine.'

Dean nodded, even though Sam probably couldn't see him properly. 'Well, good. Fine.' If it was so "fine", why did Dean feel like they really hadn't got anything sorted out? He sat on the edge of his bed for a minute or so longer, half-expecting Sam to suddenly blurt out something else, something revelatory or plain dumb or whatever, but Sam seemed to have settled again and wasn't making a sound. Fine. Yeah, right.

 

Their breakfast waitress was a cute little goth thing with a silver ring in her bottom lip, an obvious girl-boner for the both of them and a total zeal with regard her refilling duties. Dean could already feel his veins starting to jump from the sheer amount of caffeine he'd imbibed, and he was still only halfway through his savoury stack.

'A water sprite.' Dean fixed his brother with a steady look. 'You serious? Here?'

Sam wiped his hand on his new pair of thrift store jeans before dancing his finger over the laptop's mousepad. 'Pretty sure. I mean, we should really go down there for a proper look, but it seems to have all the signs – '

'You know about this BEFORE we plugged the poltergeist?'

Sam glanced up from under his hair. 'Not really. There was a report or two, maybe. But the poltergeist was clearly the big job in this town. I just thought, y'know, we're here already. Might as well check it out before we go.'

'You just want me to miss my werewolf, don't ya?'

One side of Sam's mouth tugged upward slightly in not-quite-a-proper-grin. 'Relax, Dean. Full moon's still another five days away. We'll get to San Francisco in plenty of time for you to indulge your enthusiasm for the hirsute.'

'My wha – ?'

'Another top-up for you guys?' Coffee Goth was back.

Dean covered the top of his cup with one hand. 'Naw, I'm good, thank-you, sweetheart. Don't think I need to be any more awake than I already am today.' He indulged her with a full-wattage beam and could practically see her knees tremble in response. Awesome.

She replied by giving him a soulful smile, full-on deep eye contact and all, and then turned toward Sam. 'How about you, then?' She may as well have been saying "Can I please straddle your lap?" – certainly came out sounding like that to Dean's ears.

Sam barely took his eyes off his computer screen long enough to mutter a "No, thanks". Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…

After she left them alone again, Sam looked up at Dean and shook his head slightly. 'I can't believe how obvious she's being.'

'Ah, so you DID notice?' Dean prepared to dig back in to his pancakes. 'Had me worried about your powers of observation for a minute there.'

'Hmph. As if it takes any actual effort to notice yet another waitress falling all over you, Dean.'

'Not just me, dude.'

That seemed to halt Sam in his tracks for a second or two. 'Sure it was,' he finally came up with. 'It's always you.'

'That's 'cos I'm hot,' Dean conceded around a smirk. 'And I'm not afraid to be it. But seriously. This one's into both of us – couldn't you see that? Man, I love pervy chicks! I bet we could totally be in the running for some threesome action here!'

Sam actually sneered. 'Why on earth would you think I'd want to do that with you?'

'Way to hurt a guy's feelings, Sammy.'

'You don't have feelings. Just hormones.'

'All in perfect working order.' Dean swirled a rasher of bacon in a puddle of maple syrup and took a bite, managing to grin at his brother all the way through. 'You need to loosen up a bit, you know that?'

'I don't think I need to be THAT loose.' Sam slammed the lid of the laptop down and leaned back against the booth cushions.

Dean suddenly recalled the conversation they'd had in the dark the previous night and decided to cut Sam some slack. 'So. Water sprite. What's the deal?'

Sam crossed his arms and slumped down a bit further in his seat, perhaps not entirely convinced that Dean was through with teasing him for this hour. 'The town's got a botanical garden,' he offered. 'Got a big ornamental lake in it. Several reports over the years of a figure appearing outta nowhere and scaring the hell out of people.'

'Anyone get hurt by this thing?'

'Ah, maybe? There was a drowning last year. Coroner said it was suicide, but, y'know. Whatever.'

Dean nodded. 'We should check it out.' He stabbed the air with his fork in Sam's direction. 'You're not making me miss my werewolf though!'

Finally, Sam seemed to find where he'd locked his smile away. 'Wouldn't dream of it, sparky.'

 

There was something kinda surreal about watching Sam poking around among the trees and shrubs and rockeries of the botanical gardens, long fingers brushing aside foliage and raising green leafy cascades so he could peer underneath. Dean stood against a Peruvian paperbark something-or-other for a short while, hands buried in jacket pockets, just watching his little brother kicking around in a grotto beside the lake. Sam looked like he was the world's worst gardener, a giant crashing about in the undergrowth, desperately trying not to kill anything accidentally, and not really getting a whole lot accomplished. After watching Sam push his stupid hair out of his eyes for something like the thousandth time in the last ten minutes, Dean took pity and went to join him.

'I hate to say it, man, but I'm really not getting much of a vibe around here.'

Sam, standing on a slight incline on the bank of the lake, slid backwards a little as he stood up straighter. His eyes went wide momentarily while he regained his balance, then his face settled into the put-upon bitchface that Dean knew so well. 'You could help a little, you know.'

'Help with what? Weeding? Green thumbs don't exactly run in the family, Sam.'

'Okay, then.' Sam carefully sidled along the lapping edge of the water and joined Dean on flatter ground. 'We should check the lake.'

'Don't really fancy a swim in this weather.'

Sam tilted his head and considered Dean with a long look. 'I thought you were coming along on this one with me?'

'Yeah, I am.' Dean winced slightly. 'But we'd freeze off valuable items of anatomy in there, dude. Well, I would, at least.' He gave Sam a wink. 'S'not like yours is actually getting much use lately.'

'Yeah, yeah, thanks a lot for the sensitive reminder.' Sam patted down his jacket pockets until he found a screwed up plastic bag in one of them. 'But I was thinking…' He snaked his free hand inside Dean's jacket.

'Dude!'

Sam ignored the weak protest and groped in the inner pocket for the EMF meter. 'I was thinking we wouldn't need to get wet.'

Dean just frowned in confusion, watching Sam turn the meter on and chuck it in the bag. Slowly, he cottoned on to what Sam was intending to do. 'Oh, I getcha. Good thinking, MacGyver.'

Smiling at that, Sam knotted the plastic bag securely and walked down to the lake edge.

'Better not lose that in there!' Dean called after him. Sam just gave him a dismissive wave and crouched down on the shoreline and trailed the plastic-wrapped meter through the water a few times. Dean couldn't help thinking that, were this summer at least, he would be bound by the laws of Big Brotherdom to go up behind him and give a little nudge toward the drink. To ward off the temptation, Dean stuffed his hands deep in his jacket pockets instead and patiently waited for Sam to trudge back to him with the results.

'It's fairly weak,' Sam muttered over the unharmed EMF meter. 'But it's definitely a reading.' He looked up and met Dean's gaze. 'There's _some_ thing in or around this lake.'

'Lemme guess. We now get to spend a riveting day in the local library, right?'

'Aw, Dean, I know how much you'd like that.' Sam smirked – a little cocky, if Dean wasn't mistaken – and strolled away to a nearby trash can to dispose of the sodden plastic bag.

Hands still in his jacket pockets, Dean followed after him. To their left, a huge bed of flowers bloomed precociously, a riot of colour beneath a grey and drizzly sky. Dean frowned at them a moment until Sam knocked his shoulder to get his attention.

'What is it?'

'Huh?' Dean spared him a glance then cast his gaze about their surroundings a little wider. 'This is a pretty good garden, don't you think? Especially, you know, considering the time of year and all?'

Sam turned on the spot slowly, head nodding already. 'Yeah, you're right. A lot of these flowers are completely out of season.'

'So how does Colorado in late March manage to give the Chelsea Flower Show a run for its money?'

'You know about the _Chelsea Flower Show_?'

Dean cleared his throat. 'It's on the news sometimes. So anyway. What we dealing with here?'

'I'm not sure. Guess I'm spending a riveting day in the local library.'

'Just you? I'm gettin' the day off?'

Sam grinned. 'Thought maybe you could interview the garden staff. Quiz them on their flower whisperin'.'

Dean pulled a bit of a face but settled quickly. 'Beats the friggin' library, I guess…'

 

The day was almost over before Sam got back to the motel, letting the dying light and blustery wind of the new evening in with him. His hair was sticking up at stupid, windswept angles and his cheeks and the tip of his nose were pink from the cold, but Dean didn't have the heart to laugh at him.

Sam pulled off his jacket and stamped his feet a couple of times. 'Fuck, it's cold out there! Don't they know spring's supposed to have officially started?'

'Colorado.' Dean shrugged. 'What can you do?' He leaned back against the headboard of his bed and returned his gaze to the television. 'Hope you had a more productive day than me. I swear, man, garden-geeks are even more boring than geek-geeks. I know more about _Penstemons_ than I've ever wanted to fuckin' know. Head Dude's a bit shady though. You'd reckon a guy with a thumb that green'd be falling over himself to get interviewed by a horticulture rag.'

'Maybe he saw right through you.'

'Maybe you can bite me.'

Sam grumbled something about California sun while he dug around in his bag for a hoodie to pull on over his already several layers, but stilled completely upon a particularly loud girl-moan emanating from the TV. 'Is that – ? Dean, are you watching porn?'

Dean raised one eyebrow. 'Dude. Strap-ons!'

Involuntarily, it seemed, Sam's gaze was pulled to the screen. Dean knew a bit about Sam's porn tastes and a little dyke action, apparently, was definitely something the brothers had in common. The prospect of watching some together, though, mustn't have been much of an attraction. 'I'll, erm, I'll be in the bar across the road.' Eyes still on the TV, Sam took a couple of backwards steps to the door. 'When you're ready to discuss the case… you know.' And in another flurry of cold air, he was gone.

Great. Dean crossed his arms and glared at the lovely ladies on the television for another minute or two. Then he clicked the set off with a heavy sigh and grabbed his jacket.

 

'What the fuck's a Urisk?'

Sam picked at his steak fries. 'Would you believe, a type of Scottish fairy?'

'You're kidding me.'

'Nope. Scottish fairy. Seriously.'

Dean took a drink of his beer and gave his brother a quizzical look. 'You might've noticed it's not exactly haggis and bagpipes around here?'

'Yeah, well… immigrants, I guess? The gold rushes would've attracted people from all over, I should think.'

'You sound tired.'

Sam looked up, squirmed slightly and tried to shrug off Dean's observation. 'I'll get an early night. Be fine.'

Dean considered pushing the issue, but let Sam off with a frown. 'Okay, then. So how do we kill it?'

'Ah, we don't.' Sam gave a little smile. 'It's benign. He's actually kind of lucky to have around. Urisks do all sorts of labour for humans – household chores, watching over cattle, tending gardens…'

'You're telling me we just tracked down a freakin' garden gnome?' That actually made Sam laugh a bit and Dean felt his shoulders relax, even though he hadn't realised he'd been holding tension there. 'And the body in the lake last year,' Dean continued. 'Really was just a suicide?'

'Most likely. And the sightings over the years, those are just people getting freaked by the Urisk's appearance. He's not exactly the best looking guy on the planet.' Sam smiled again and Dean couldn't help thinking his brother _looked_ tired as well as sounding it.

'You sleeping okay?'

Sam looked down into his almost-done beer and shrugged again. 'I'm fine.'

'Right,' Dean said slowly. Like he ever believed that when Sam said it. He watched a muscle in Sam's jaw twitching for a moment then drained his beer and set the empty glass on the table. 'So this Urisk dude's not hurting anyone, there's nothing else in this town worth killin', I say it's looking like Frisco time. Unless. You know…'

'What?'

Dean leered a little. 'Breakfast waitress still wants a threesome…'

'You're unbelievable.'

'Is that a yes?'

'That's a no, Dean. A big, resounding NO.' Sam dragged himself to his feet as he spoke, zipping his hoodie up in obvious readiness to leaving the bar.

'Aw, c'mon, Sammy, she was cute! Y'know, in that… Hammer Horror kind of way.'

'G'night, Dean.'

'We should at least eat there again in the morning. Give the poor gal one last look at what she's missin'.'

'Goodnight, Dean!'

 

Sam seemed to have found a way to intensify his bitch-mood even more than usual, somehow. It was almost enough to make Dean regret having teased him about the waitress in the first place. Almost. But even in full-blown, more-bitch-than-Joan-Collins mode, an adult Sam mood wasn't even a spot on teenaged Sam moods of yore, and Dean had not only dealt with thousands of those, but survived to tell the tale afterwards, so this was no biggie. Besides, he still couldn't shift the feeling that much of Sam's current edginess was connected to his lousy sleep patterns, so Dean's overriding emotion of one of worry rather than annoyance.

'Your leg giving you trouble, or what?'

There was some rustling in the dark while Sam fidgeted and pummelled his pillow or something. 'Naw. It's alright.'

'So quit squirming, then. You're keeping me awake.'

'Sorry.'

Dean stared up into the darkness for a minute or so, listening to Sam trying to lay still and failing epically. 'F'christ's sake, Sam! What the hell's up with you?'

A loud sigh was all the answer he got for a short while. 'I'm sorry, alright?' Sam eventually whined. 'I'm just, just having trouble sleeping is all.'

'I noticed.'

'Sorry.' Sam sounded pretty miserable.

Dean let out a sigh of his own and turned onto his side, facing Sam's direction, and spoke across the gulf between their beds. 'Dude. Talk to me.'

'It's nothin', okay? Just… stupid.'

'What's stupid?'

'I guess it's just, I dunno, missing having someone else around or somethin'. Just having another body in the bed, y'know? Comfort or somethin', having another person there through the night. God knows.' He sounded disappointed in himself for some reason.

Dean frowned a bit and considered what Sam was saying. He thought he understood, at least a little. If he was to be completely honest with himself, there was occasionally an element of needing that same comfort in some of the hook-ups he pursued. He'd never had a long-term girlfriend like Sam had though, so he figured that he probably didn't feel the loss as acutely as his brother did.

But what could he do to help? Well, there was maybe one thing…

'Dean? Uh, Dean, what're you doing?'

'Shove over. Gimme some room here.'

'Um. I'm not sure this is such a great idea.'

'C'mon, don't make this weird! We've slept in the same bed thousands of times!'

'Not as adults!'

'Huh. YOU might not've been an adult, but I was. I was, what, twenty-one last time we had to share a bed? Shit, I'd been voting three years by that time! Y'know, if I was actually _on_ the electoral roll any place. But the point is I still had to put up with you and your sharp elbows and your dribbling and your morning wood you never knew what to do with!'

'Dean!'

'I'm just testing your theory, Sam. Let's see if you get a better night's sleep with someone next to you.'

Sam hmph'd and fidgeted for a another minute or so, but he stopped protesting at least. Dean turned on his side, facing away from Sam and pretended to be closer to sleep than he really was. He was determined not to slip into unconsciousness until Sam had first. Not just because he wanted to be right about this, but because he was still worried. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait much longer than half an hour to hear his brother's breathing even out and deepen. Dean was out like a light before he could even feel good about it.

 

Coffee Goth's black-rimmed eyes lit up next morning when Dean and Sam wandered into the diner again and sat in the same booth they'd had the previous day. She immediately brought the coffee jug over and filled the white cups on the table, practically humming her "Good morning" and telling them how nice it was to see them again. Just like the day before, Dean could hear what else she was telling them loud and clear, but unlike yesterday it seemed Sammy finally could, too.

Sam was smirking into his menu, his cheeks full of colour and his gaze darting about the pages way too skittishly to be actually reading any damned thing. Dean just sat back in his seat with one arm draped along the back of the booth and gave their new fan a friendly grin.

'I think I'll order for both of us today, darlin',' he announced confidently. 'We'll have two serves of banana split, raspberry syrup, side of bacon done super crunchy.' He glanced across the table to find Sam managing to smile wide and look utterly dumbfounded at the same time.

'Dean? Watchya doin'?'

'That's your favourite breakfast!'

'When I was _ten_.'

'Heh. Yeah. No wonder you got a bit chubby by the time you were twelve!' Dean looked back up to their waitress and gave her a wink. 'And best keep the coffee coming, thanks. We got a lotta driving to do today.'

'Leaving already?'

''Fraid so.'

She finished scribbling on her notepad, nodded sadly and turned for the serving window. Poor kid.

'So,' Sam began, 'what's up with the raspberry banana bacon split?'

Dean couldn't exactly tell him the truth. That Sam looked so refreshed and relaxed this morning after his first decent night's sleep in fuck knew how long that, to Dean's eyes, he looked almost a decade younger. That sharing a bed once more had even made Dean feel a bit like a kid again. He'd woken up with an elbow pressing into the side of his neck and less than his fair share of the blankets, but he'd woke up happy and nostalgic and kinda stoked to be at large in the world with his little brother at his side and a roadtrip and a werewolf in their immediate future.

He managed a disinterested shrug. 'Felt like starting the day disgusting.'

Sam just gave him a level look. 'You start most days disgusting.'

'Says you.' Dean leaned forward and rested his arms on the edge of the table. 'I'm thinking lunch somewhere in the bottom corner of Wyoming and then you can take over to Salt Lake City. We'll spend the night in Nevada, one more day in the car and bingo – Gaysville in time for the full moon. Sound doable?'

'Just promise me you won't call the city "Gaysville" out loud while we're actually there, okay?'

'Whatever. Maybe we should get a photo of you with Brokeback Mountain in the background while we're in Wyoming.'

'Brokeback Mountain doesn't really exist, Dean – hang on, how'd you even know it's set in Wyoming?'

'I've seen it.'

Sam's mouth fell open. 'You have not!'

'I have!' Dean sat back in his seat again while their waitress placed cutlery on the table for them both. 'I've seen every movie Randy Quaid's ever made. Dude's a friggin' legend. And hey, Anne Hathaway's tits!' He shot Coffee Goth a smile that was half apology and half cheek.

'You're unbelievable,' Sam spluttered at him and Coffee Goth giggled.

'He should know,' Dean told her conspiratorially.

 

San Francisco hadn't exactly panned out the way Dean had thought. And that was putting it mildly. The real kicker was that little epiphany Dean had in Madison's hallway. His kid brother was so absolutely not a kid anymore. Dean had known that, intellectually at least, for a while, of course he had, but he didn't think he'd completely SEEN it until that moment. One second Sam was the same Sam he'd always been, then Dean looked away for the space of one blink and when he looked back – he could suddenly see what Madison was seeing. He saw the man she saw, the man she was responding to; saw this tall, built, goodlookin' dude who was eminently humpable, who was gonna give her the time of her life.

The one and only time he met Jess, Dean had told her she was way out of his brother's league. And she was, at least she was out of the league of the eighteen-year-old kid Dean had last known. What Dean realised there in Madison's hallway, was that he'd missed out on Sam growing into this man who could affect a woman like this. As he gave Sam a rock-on salute and walked out of Madison's apartment with a proud grin, Dean found himself thinking he would never again consider anyone too good for his brother. Sam was in a league of his own.

 

The single shot ringing out of Madison's livingroom made Dean flinch worse than any gunshot had in recent memory. It was like the universe was beating him over the head with it, just trying to make him accept this one horrible fucking fact – that there were some things he just couldn't save his little brother from, no matter how much he tried, no matter how hard he fought.

He wished he could give Sam some time right now. Some quiet moments beside Madison, if he wanted it, or some time alone in another room. But truth was, they just couldn't risk it. One of Madison's neighbours was bound to have heard the shot; there was probably a 911 call being made right this second. They had to work quick and get the hell out of there. Dean wiped his face with the back of one hand and walked to the livingroom door.

Sam was half-sitting, half-leaning on the table, arms hanging loose at his sides, Dean's gun still clutched in his right hand, just staring, staring at Madison's corpse. Tears still coursed unchecked down his face, the drips darkening a spreading wet patch on his shirt, but he wasn't making a sound.

'I'm sorry, Sammy.' Dean approached his brother slowly, like closing on a wounded animal. 'I am so sorry.'

Sam nodded once and made a gross, mucous-filled sniffing noise. He didn't resist when Dean carefully eased the gun from his hand, checked the safety and slipped it into one of the pockets of his leather jacket. He didn't even move his head or his gaze when Dean deliberately stood in his line of sight, blocking his view of the body on the sofa.

'I really hate to do this, man. Believe me, I do. But we have to get outta here before anybody shows up. And we've got a few things to tidy up before we go.' Dean looked hard into Sam's eyes and willed him to make some sort of response. 'Gotta move, Sam. Let me get you somewhere safe.'

The green of Sam's eyes was muted, taken over for the moment by the more sombre brown. 'Safe, Dean?' His voice cracked on Dean's name and he ran his tongue along his top lip to gather a collection of tears there. 'Nowhere's ever gonna be safe for us. Don't you see that?'

'Maybe,' Dean murmured. 'But there's at least places safer than here right now. C'mon, we have to move quick.' He took a bandana out of his jacket and pressed it into Sam's hands. 'Wipe your prints off everything you touched. This table, for starters. And whichever of these chairs you might've touched. Then do the door knobs and, ah, the toilet seat cover, the flush, the kitchen bench – anything solid you touched in this place, okay?' As he was speaking, he was hauling Sam to his feet. 'Look lively, Sam. We really do have to get all this done and split.'

 _'Cos I'm not letting any damn one arrest you,_ he added in his thoughts. He waited a second, just to make sure that Sam was getting his act together enough to actually follow orders, then he strode through the apartment to the bedroom.

His heart had already broken for his brother at least half a dozen times today already, and yet it still broke all over again when he looked at the dishevelled bed. At the stray pillow pushed to the floor and the sheets tangled and bunched to one side. His brother had found some happiness here, for a few hours. A brief respite in this fucked up mess of a life. After mourning poor, dead Jessica for more than a year and a half, Sam had finally let the walls crumble a little and let someone in close. And just look how it all turned out. It'd probably be a miracle if Sam ever let a woman do so much as shake his hand again after this.

Pushing his thoughts aside, Dean stripped the bed down. They only had a few minutes to get rid of as much evidence of his and Sam's presence in this place as they possibly could. He had to quit thinking so much and get the fucking job done. He roughly pulled all of the pillows out of their cases and yanked the quilt out of its cover so hard, he thought he heard something rip a tiny bit. Then he gathered all of the bedding up in his arms and stormed into the bathroom, where Madison's washing machine stood in one corner. It was a bit less than a full load when everything was stuffed in, so Dean grabbed the towels from the rails as well, just in case Sam had showered here at any point. He poured a healthy dose of powder into the machine and bashed at the stupid controls until the lights went on and he could hear water begin to pump in. He hastily wiped the surfaces he'd touched and thought quickly. Right, what next?

Dean strode back to the bedroom and cast his gaze around the floor. Not seeing what he expected to, he walked around to the other side of the bed. Sure enough, Sam had been a good, responsible boy and played safe. Two ripped open condom packets lay on the carpet along with – and here, a lump rose in Dean's throat all over again – two knotted rubbers.

_Quit thinking so much. Get the job done._

Leaving a little treasury of grade-A genetic material just lying there was making CSI's job way too freakin' easy, as far as Dean was concerned. He scooped up all the items, fiercely trying not to think of what a horribly intimate thing it was he was doing, and wrapped them in some tissues from the box beside the bed. Couldn't exactly get rid of them here, could he? He'd have to wait until they were somewhere far off before he could dump 'em. Life for the Winchester brothers was just one bizarre event after another – walking around with a pocket full of your little brother's jizz was merely another stop on a long, long line of crazy.

He left the bedroom with a flush to his cheeks and tracked down Sam in the kitchen. Sam seemed to be taking his wiping detail ridiculously seriously – the place was almost gleaming. Dean looked around for anything else that needed to be done, his gaze landing on the three coffee mugs sitting, unwashed, on the bench. He stepped up to the sink and pushed the plug in, turned the faucet on with the dishcloth covering his hand and then quickly wiped around the rims of the mugs before letting them sit in the rising water. There were already four mugs sitting in the plate drainer to the side, washed the previous day, probably. Dean picked each one up and dumped it into the sink. At least they could make it a little harder for the cops to work out exactly how many people Madison had been entertaining before she was killed. As he shut off the water, he looked over to see Sam desultorily wiping down the broad handle of the jug in the coffee machine.

'Bathroom done?' Dean asked, perhaps a little sharply. His adrenaline was really starting to ramp up now. Fight or Flight – and he really preferred the latter right now.

'Yeah. Everything's done.'

'Good.' Dean threw the dishcloth into the water and stepped away from the sink. 'Let's get the fuck outta here.'

Sam didn't argue, didn't beg for one last moment with Madison or one last look or anything else, just let Dean hustle him toward the door and out.

 

Dean just drove. Just pointed the car and put his foot down. Didn't even bother to check what direction they were headed in for almost half an hour. He just needed to put mileage between Sam and San Francisco. Once they'd left the city behind, Dean felt some of the tension seep out of his shoulder and neck muscles, and he settled in for a long drive. Several times, he almost reached for the radio or to push in the tape that was sitting in the deck, but then he'd remember that Sam was in mourning right now and it was probably better etiquette to travel in relative silence.

Most of the journey, Sam barely even moved. Just somehow managed to curl that giant frame of his up into the smallest ball he could be, leaned his head against the side window to absorb every vibration and bump of the drive, and stared ahead glumly like he wasn't actually seeing anything. If Dean tried to speak or ask him a question, he all but grunted in response until Dean gave up.

It was starting to get dark when they crossed the border into Oregon, and Dean's stomach was telling him it was way passed dinnertime by the time they rolled into Medford and found a motel. Convincing Sam to go out to eat was a complete no-go, so Dean ducked out to the nearest fast food joint and returned with paper bags full of greasy, salty ambrosia. Even though Sam was already in bed when he got back, those burgers smelled so good he was able to talk Sam into sitting up and actually eating one. Well. Half-a-one, at least. The burgers were good, but they couldn't perform miracles.

Maybe Sam had the right idea anyhow. Hunting werewolves meant they'd had barely any sleep the last few nights, and with everything that had happened, and then a six hour drive on top of that… Dean suddenly felt so bone weary, he could've fallen asleep in mid-swallow and choked himself. When he finally crawled into bed ten minutes later and turned off the lamp, he was pretty certain he was gonna be out before his head even touched the pillow.

Except that he could hear Sam crying softly in the other bed. Magnificent.

Should he say something? Assure his brother that it would all be okay? That things would feel better in the morning and whatever other bullshit platitudes people usually try in these situations? What else could he do though?

Dean had pushed his covers away and rolled out of bed before he'd really even decided what he was going to do. He crossed the short space between their beds, found the edge of Sam's blankets and got in beside his brother. The bed-sharing experiment a few days ago had worked surprisingly well, after all, so Dean figured it was worth a second shot.

'Dean?'

'Just go to sleep, Sammy.'

Sam squirmed a bit and Dean could tell he was wiping at his face with a corner of the sheet. 'You don't need to do this, you know.'

'Yeah, but I am.'

'Thanks for that.' Sam's voice sounded thick and ragged, and he let out a long breath in a shuddering sigh.

For a minute or two, they both just lay there, shoulders touching. It was kinda nice. Companionable, even, like it'd been the other night. Then Sam suddenly rolled toward Dean and didn't stop until he was lying on top of him, face buried in the side of Dean's neck. The hell?

Dean didn't know exactly how to respond to that, but he tentatively rested his hands on Sam's back anyway and gave him a little pat. 'If you wanted a hug, Sam, you coulda just asked!' His voice came out a bit breathy, due to all that damned weight pressing down on him.

'Shut up,' Sam said against his throat, though there was no malice in it.

The movement of Sam's mouth against Dean's skin caused Dean's face to heat up and, okay, that was a little weird. But if some outrageous girly hugging action was what Sam needed right now, then so be it. If ever there was a day upon which Dean was prepared go along with whatever the hell came out of that freak head of his brother's, today was definitely it. Anything to get Sam through this.

"Anything" turned out to be… Aw, hell. Was this happening?

Sam started moving – just tiny rolls of his hips at first – a languid, lazy motion, so small and non-threatening that, at that point, it might've been easy for Dean to put a stop to it and successfully kid himself that he hadn't realised what was going on. Just like when drunken Sasquatch Sammy tried to kiss him in that haunted hotel in Connecticut a coupla months back.

'Sam – '

'Shhh…'

Obediently, Dean shushed. Sam shifted a little, bracing himself over Dean's body at a better fit and rocked his hips against Dean's with obvious intent. The thin fabric of two pairs of boxers was nowhere near enough to hide, well, anything. Especially, Dean's brain helpfully informed him, not something as freakin' obvious as the boner Sam was sporting right now.

'Dude.'

Sam just pushed his face harder into the side of Dean's throat and told him again to shush. Dean could've thrown him off, of course. Even with Sam's height advantage, Dean had always been able to throw him when he wanted. But that was the kicker, really – did he actually _want_ to right now? The flutter in his belly and a definite pulse along the length of his cock told him he didn't think he did. Two more thrusts against his body and his dick was definitely telling him he better not fucking dare put a halt to this.

'Yeah,' Sam breathed against his ear, obviously feeling Dean's body reacting. His voice was low and rough and Dean's brain filed away a new detail about his brother – How Sam Sounds When He's Horny. Dean supposed that should've disturbed him on some level, and maybe in the harsh light of day it would, but for now…

For now, Dean let his hands slide down Sam's back and, tentatively at first, took hold of Sam's hips. Against his throat, Sam nuzzled at him a little and Dean's grip tightened. Yeah. Yeah, they could do this. Sam shifted slightly again, just the tiniest bit, but now that Dean was hard too, it was all kinds of perfect. When Sam re-braced himself and started on a new rhythm, their cocks were hard against each other and Dean had to choke back a moan so as not to embarrass himself.

The next few minutes passed in a bit of a haze, just movement and hard breathing and naked legs tangled together and cocks leaking and fuckyeah. Sam's thrusts were getting more forceful and Dean was tilting his hips and matching him on every one and what the hell was this they were doing anyhow? Fake fucking? Dean had had a couple of girls dry-hump on him, sure, but never a dude. He wouldn't have thought this was even possible, let alone that it could feel this fucking good. And how the hell did Sam know? And fuck, fuck! Almost –

A grunt against his ear was the only warning Dean got before he felt the warm wetness of Sam's release seeping between them and just like that, Dean was tumbling over the edge himself, his mind whiting out on the buzz of orgasm and the smell of come. Oh, god. God!

He was vaguely aware of a massive hand groping between them, as though patting them both down or something. And then he was jolted rudely out of his afterglow by the sudden movement of Sam levering himself up and sitting heavily on Dean's legs.

'The fuck, Dean?!' Sam practically spat, his voice dripping with what sounded awfully like disgust. Then he was scrambling off Dean and off the bed, stomping blindly toward the bathroom.

'What?!' Dean called after him. 'You can get off on that but I'm not allowed to?!' The bathroom door slammed shut and the light shone out from under it. 'Whatever,' Dean mumbled and shivered at the cold; a hot-to-trot Sammy blanket had been amazingly warm.

He got up and peeled his boxers off, using the drier part to wipe the come off his lower stomach. Sam sure knew how to kill the moment. Dean glanced toward the bathroom as he padded over to his duffel. No doubt Sam was engaged in a monumental freak-out right now. Probably staring at himself in the mirror or sitting on the edge of the tub with his head in his hands. Dean dropped his boxers on the floor and dug around in his duffel until he came up with another pair to put on. They were probably dirty, but he didn't care.

For a moment, he contemplated crawling back into his own bed. That was probably what he should do. But it'd be fuckin' cold in there by now and Sam's was all toasty. Hrm. It'd probably give Sam another little freak-out when he eventually emerged from the bathroom and found Dean in there, but fuck it. Dean got back into Sam's bed and hauled the covers back into place. Sam could sleep in the other bed if it bothered him that much.

So. Dean turned on his side and found himself staring at the strip of light shining out from beneath the bathroom door. What had all that been about, then? What had made Sam clamber on top of him like that and make them both come? Maybe it was that thing that humans do sometimes, that life-affirming in the face of death thing. It certainly wasn't because killing a girl he liked had got Sam horny. Well. Dean certainly _hoped_ it wasn't because of that. That was just too vile a thought to even consider.

Should he ask? Hmph. Nah.

The bathroom door handle suddenly moved and Dean quickly shut his eyes. He heard the lightswitch click after a few seconds and the bathroom door close again, and then the sound of Sam shuffling across the floor in the dark. It surprised the hell out of Dean when the bed dipped and Sam slid back in beside him. He really had expected Sam to run away and hide in the other bed. This was a day just full of surprises where his brother was concerned.

Sam made a bit of a show about pummelling his pillow into submission and then stealing half the covers, but eventually he settled and seemed curiously lacking in any outward signs of freaked-out agitation. Before Dean could ponder the whys and the what-the-hells much longer, he could feel himself drifting off into a surprisingly comfortable sleep.

 

Dean was still on his side when he woke up next morning, as though he'd slept so soundly that he hadn't even moved during the night. He opened his eyes to find Sam's face his entire field of vision and blinked a few times in surprise. Sam was lying on his side, too, facing toward Dean, already awake and apparently watching Dean sleep. Ugh, yeah. Last night. Shit.

'Hey,' Sam said quietly, one corner of his mouth tugging up a little way into a tiny lopsided smile.

'Hey,' Dean replied and started to sit up. 'What time is it?'

'About eight. I think.'

Were they going to acknowledge it? Was either one of them gonna say something? How the hell was that conversation supposed to go anyway? How do you talk to your brother about you making each other come during the night? Dean rubbed a hand over his face and turned his head to look sideways at Sam.

Sam just met his gaze and held it, crooked little smile still tugging at his mouth, one dimple denting his cheek. The look was half challenge, half bemusement, and all Little Brother. He wasn't gonna be the one to say anything and he was daring Dean to try it.

'Bitch,' Dean muttered and got out of bed.

Sam snorted at him. 'Jerk.'

It was that simple.

 

  
They laid low in Oregon for five days, spending most of their time watching TV as they avoided going out as much as possible. Sam seemed to slump into a depression that Dean really couldn't blame him for. The one time Dean asked if he wanted to talk about Madison, Sam just shook his head sadly and burrowed harder into the corner of the couch, eyes never leaving the Simpsons marathon that evidently had him riveted.

The third night, Sam crawled into Dean's bed around two in the morning, laid himself out over Dean's body and ground their cocks so hard together that Dean checked for bruises in the shower next day.

They never mentioned it.

On the fifth night, Dean woke up from a dream with a raging hard-on and burning need to hear that noise Sam makes when he comes. His conscience tried telling him to stay in his own bed, that it was wrong to keep pursuing this thing, this whatever the fuck it was. But his dick won him over and he slid into Sam's bed so quietly, Sam only woke up when Dean was on him already. God, it was so wrong. So dirtywrong and so fucking good. All that Sam laid out beneath him, those huge arms squeezing him almost breathless, those mile-long legs wrapped tense and quivering around his own, and that long neck – fucking hell, that neck! – the way it elongated when Sam threw his head back, the way it looked next morning at breakfast as Sam nervously tugged his shirt collar over the mark Dean hadn't resisted biting into it as he came.

They never mentioned it.

When cabin fever started getting the worst of them, Dean worried even more about Sam's state of mind. The initial burn and blaze of Sam's mourning for Madison had transmuted into a perpetual melancholy. His despair was almost tangible. Dean racked his brain for ways to get Sam's mind off it, some diversion he could take his brother on, something like a bit of a holiday, maybe. He settled, eventually, on Hollywood and they took their time getting down there, driving way, way inland and giving San Francisco a hundred mile berth.

Of course, Sam went and found them a case to work and Dean had to begrudgingly admit that getting back in the saddle did actually seem like the best occupational therapy, after all. Everything seemed a little lighter all of a sudden, Sam's shoulders a little less hunched. They even managed to resist doing any nocturnal bed-hopping while in Tinseltown and Dean thought maybe they'd turned a real corner here. But then the look Sam gave him as he exited Tara Benchley's trailer almost made him fall down the steps. He hadn't seen his brother look at him with that sort of disappointment and vague betrayal in ages. That night, Sam hardly waited ten seconds after lights out to fling the covers off Dean's bed and throw himself on top, holding Dean's wrists over his head in one huge paw while he thrust his cock against Dean's with brutal force, his mouth gnawing sloppily at the underside of Dean's right tricep.

They never mentioned it.

 

'Dude, seriously. Worst plan ever.'

'Are we keeping tally on how many hundreds of times you've said that already?'

Sam just gave him a prissy look and knocked his knee against the dash. Dean leaned across him and opened up the glove compartment, poking around until he found an empty envelope and sinking back into his seat with it. 'How else are we supposed to hunt something in a freakin' prison, Sam?'

An exasperated sigh was all the answer Sam could come up with to that one. There was no other way. They'd been over it and over it. Sam looked out at the rainy night for a moment, shaking his head a bit. He really, really didn't want to do this, Dean knew, but he was going along with it anyway. Dean liked the show of trust that displayed. The plan was risky, sure, and Dean was actually slightly more apprehensive about it than he was letting on. But Deacon would take care of them, of that Dean was certain.

'And you're not worried at all?' Sam was saying. 'You're not concerned about the non-supernatural monsters we're gonna meet in there? And the things some of those guys are capable of?' Sam's expression softened a little, even as the frown line between his eyes deepened by a fraction. 'Dean, you know I wouldn't normally say this in a million years, but dude, you're _pretty_. You're not worried about that? About… you know?'

'Shucks, Sam, you actually giving me a compliment?'

'I'm serious, Dean!'

Was that – ? Was that panic Dean was hearing? His little brother was genuinely scared. Dean's attitude sobered immediately and he turned toward the passenger side more, putting his right arm up along the back of the seat. 'I hear you, okay? I do. And yes, we're taking a lot of risks with this one and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry this worries you so much. But you know what? Dad trained us well, Sammy. I mean, _really_ well. I honestly don't believe I'm ever gonna meet a dude I can't take. And I'll tell you something else – I don't believe there's any dude out there who could take you down, either. We're fighters, Sam, and we're good at it. We'll be fine.'

The declaration seemed to surprise Sam a bit, his lips parting a little way as though he was ready to say something but the words just weren't coming. Eventually, he cleared his throat softly and gave Dean a nod. 'Well, I just hope you're right.'

'Course I'm right. I'm the oldest.' Dean grinned and gave his attention back to the envelope he was still holding. He lifted his right hand and took hold of the silver ring he wore there. It took a bit of wriggling at first, but it came off easily enough and he dropped it into the envelope. Next, he groped at the back of his neck for the knot in the leather necklace he wore. This particular knot had been in place since he took his necklace back from that freak shape-shifter in St Louis last year, and it took almost half a minute to get the damned thing undone.

'Dean?' Sam had a thousand different ways of saying Dean's name, but Dean was certain that one was his hurt voice, his what-have-I-done-to-deserve-a-mean-brother-like-you-why-won't-you-just-leave-me-alone way of saying his name.

The knot came undone finally and Dean let the necklace dangle from his hand. 'What?'

Sam just looked from Dean to the necklace and back again, wearing an expression like a kicked puppy. Oh.

'They'll confiscate everything we have on us,' Dean tried to explain gently. 'And the way we're gonna be leaving, can't exactly go knocking on the warden's door and ask for our shit back.'

 _And no one's taking this off me,_ he didn't need to say out loud.

For a moment, it almost looked like Sam was gonna launch himself across the front seat and hug the stuffing out of his big brother, but then he just smiled and hung his head like he was hiding a blush. If Dean was anyone else, he might've thought the reaction was too adorably cute for words.

_I did not just fuckin' think that._

Sam coughed a bit and got himself under control. When he looked up at Dean again, his smile was easy and both dimples were in full force. 'How come you've worn it all these years?'

Dean did his level best to give a non-committal shrug, but he didn't think he managed it entirely well. 'I like it,' he said simply. He avoided meeting Sam's eyes as he carefully lowered the amulet into the envelope with his ring and sealed it. When he leaned across Sam again to deposit his treasures in the glove compartment, he was all too aware of the warmth radiating off his brother's body, the physicality of him, the sheer size of him, how much space he took up in Dean's car. For a split second, Dean kinda regretted Sam hadn't followed through with that hug a moment ago.

'So,' Sam said as Dean settled back in his seat. 'We're doing this?'

Dean grabbed up the gloves and lock picking tools from the top of the dash. 'You betcha.'

Sam put his right hand to the door handle but then paused and looked back at Dean. 'Just promise me you'll be careful.'

'You too, little brother.'

 

Clarksville, Tennessee looked like it was about to become their first safe harbour after escaping Green River County Detention Center in Arkansas. After their jailbreak and the quickest cemetery dig they'd ever hurried through, Dean had pointed his baby roughly north-east and got them the hell outta Dodge. Ideally, he really would've liked to just keep on going, make Sam drive for a while if he had to, just put mileage between them and the law. But Sam was looking pretty done in, and they both had graveyard dirt under their fingernails and sweat dried into their shirts, and some food and a shower and a halfway-decent bed sounded better and better with each passing roadsign. So he found them a motel with a parking lot hidden from street-view and signed them in with his best "Brian Johnson" signature and a tight, tired smile for the elderly clerk.

The last five or so hours in the car had been… strange. They'd barely said a word to each other, both of them too anxious, Dean supposed, to bother with conversation or small talk. And every time Dean had glanced over to see how Sam was doing, he'd find Sam watching him intently. He didn't even look away when Dean caught him, either, just held his gaze and breathed slow until Dean gave his attention back to the road again, wondering what the hell was going through his brother's head now. It frustrated him that, even knowing Sammy as well as he did, there could still be situations where he simply had no clue what the guy was thinking.

As soon as they got into their room, Sam turned the light on and told Dean he could have first shower, then proceeded to pace the main room, Dean was fairly sure, for the entire time Dean was in there. When Dean emerged in boxers and a tshirt and feeling cleaner than he had in days, Sam practically stormed by him to get at the remaining hot water. At least, that's what he thought Sam was racing in there for, but when he'd already been watching an infomercial for at least ten minutes and it occurred to him he hadn't heard the water start yet, he had to wonder.

'Sam?' he called through the bathroom door. 'You okay in there?'

'Yeah,' the answer came back, closer than Dean had expected, as though Sam were standing directly on the other side of the door.

Five minutes later, the shower turned on and Dean called Bobby to let him know where they were ("Yeah, look out for us on America's Most Wanted"), then got engrossed in some show on Discovery about swords. By the time it finished, Dean was wondering if he could find a legitimate use for one in his line of work and Sam stepped out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel and a scarily determined look.

Dean started to say something flippant but never got to finish, as Sam dragged him to his feet, caught him in those big arms of his and rather unceremoniously crushed their mouths together.

It wasn't the first time Dean had felt Sam's mouth latch onto his own. The first time, John had been teaching the boys CPR. Putting each other's mouths that close together had really been too much for a couple of teenagers to deal with, and Dean could still recall how Sam's lips had trembled with Sam's barely contained giggles. They'd called each other "fag" for a week and a half afterwards, because that's the sort of thing teenage boys do when they think they know shit about the world. This time around though, Dean was pretty sure his own mouth was the only one doing any barely contained trembling.

Dean had kissed plenty of folk in his time. So many women, a few guys here and there, hell he'd even got lip-locked with the supernatural when occasion had called for it. But this kiss – out of all those many, this was the most amazing kiss he'd ever had. This kiss was so amazing, in fact, that there were laws against it. And not just in places like Indiana, either. No, this baby was verboten in all fifty states, every country in the world as far as Dean was aware. Those things he and Sam had done in the dark a few times, they were illegal, too. Even in a state like Cali, where two dudes could do whatever the hell they wanted to, he and Sam had still been breaking the law by doing ANYthing to each other. But those things, those intense moments fumbled for in the dark, they'd been relatively easy to ignore when he was thinking straight. He and Sam hadn't acknowledged those activities in the day time, certainly hadn't talked about it. Dean could almost fool himself that it was all only happening in the frequently bizarre and occasionally sick thoughts he allowed himself to indulge in when lying awake in the dark.

But this…

This was two brothers in a well-lit motel room, clutching at each other's shoulders, mouths sharing breath and spit and choked back moans. This was simply the most awesome kiss EVER.

Dean supposed he should've felt a bit more freaked out about it, but what was the point? He was too tired to argue, and besides – now he reckoned he knew what had been going on in Sam's brain every time he was looking at Dean during the drive. And that meant he'd learnt something new about his brother today. He could now file that particular expression away as Sam's I'm Gonna Kiss You The First Chance I Get look.

Actually, more specifically it might've been his I'm Gonna Kiss You The First Chance I Get But Dude Only After You Shower look.

'What're you laughing at?' Sam murmured against his mouth.

'Huh? Nothin'. Honest. You sure you wanna be doing this?'

Sam lightly took hold of Dean's chin and tilted his head just so. 'Definitely.' And he leaned in for another.

Dean ducked away though and put a little distance between them. 'Hey, don't look so disappointed,' he grinned. 'Just taking care of a coupla things.' He muted the sound on the television and made doubly sure that all of the windows were properly covered. 'TV giving off enough light for whatever you got planned, princess?'

'Ugh, I haven't got anything _planned_ , Dean. None of this is the kind of thing people _plan_ to do…'

Dean just turned the overhead lights off and rolled his eyes as he padded back to where Sam was standing. 'So, you're not planning on kissing me again, huh?'

'Er – '

'Yeah, I thought so.' He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked up at his brother. 'You can't resist this.'

It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes. Then, in a lightning quick attack, he tripped Dean and sent him sprawling backwards onto the nearest bed.

'Sonofabitch!'

'I might've planned that,' Sam smiled smugly.

Dean just gave him a light glare. 'Talkin' pretty tough for a guy wearing a towel.'

Sam's considered response to that was to give one flick of his wrist and let the towel fall away to the floor. The only things that kept Dean's lower jaw from doing something similar were, firstly, the fact that he was way too cool for a reaction like that and, secondly, the cocky as hell eyebrow-raise that Sam was giving him, as though this was all just one big game of double-dare.

There were a couple of options from there, Dean figured. He could make some funny comment or other. He could spend the next hour or so ogling. Or he could just dispense with any pretence of game playing and get down to serious business. And although his eyes kinda wanted to go with option two, Door Number Three was the clear winner. He raised his chin a little in a last ditch attempt to accept Sam's challenge in a manner befitting an older, cooler brother, and then he swiftly pulled his tshirt over his head and flung it aside.

'Still wearing more than me,' Sam told him pointedly, although his voice had dropped about half an octave lower than normal.

The only rejoinders Dean made were in his head. They'd done enough playing. He got his boxers off as quickly as his swelling cock would allow and gave Sam the calmest look he could muster.

'Fuck. Dean…' Sam's voice sounded suitably awed and Dean would have mentally declared himself winner on this one except DAMN, Sammy sure had grown up. He supposed he could be magnanimous and call it a draw.

Sam knelt onto the edge of the bed. 'You're thinking too much,' he murmured around a smile.

'Likewise with your yapping.'

'This IS all pretty serious though. I guess we shouldn't rush anyth – '

Dean wrapped a hand around Sam's nearest wrist and hauled him down on top of himself. 'Shut the fuck up, Sam.'

Long, long minutes passed in which Sam didn't say a word and Dean could hardly string two coherent thoughts together and the only thing either of them had to remember to do was come up for air every now and then. At first, they both seemed too timid to move much, the new sensation of each other's nakedness inhibiting them somehow. Besides, it felt like they had all the time in the world to get around to exploring everything; they could take their time if they wanted to. Dean could spend seven minutes just carding through and pulling on Sam's stupid hair if he liked – and he did, so he did. Sam could attempt to map every spike of stubble on Dean's face with his tongue if he so desired – which Dean figured he must, seeing as he did precisely that for at least ten and a half minutes.

'Dude,' Dean eventually murmured into Sam's mouth. 'S'no girl you're making out with.'

Languidly, Sam blinked down at him for a moment, obviously not realising he'd just spent the last five minutes or so squeezing and rubbing at Dean's chest. When the penny dropped he grinned so bright that Dean actually squinted a bit in response. Sam ducked his head and watched his giant hand for a little while, seemingly fascinated by the sight of his long fingers playing over Dean's left nipple. When he brought his gaze back up to meet Dean's, his eyes had darkened with heat and he dropped his voice way down low.

'Still nice tits though, Dean. Bet you're sensitive like a girl…'

And oh fuck if Sam didn't make Dean believe the only thing he wanted in the world was to have Sam's mouth on his chest, to roll Sam's head in his hands while Sam sucked at him. Jesus. Dean envied the hell outta every woman Sam had ever put his mouth on. He actually arched up into it, his sweat-damp fingers sliding on the back of Sam's neck as he held him there. No one had ever pressed that particular button quite THAT well before. His cock leaked against his stomach and Sam moaned right into his skin and fuck. Fuck!

'Knew it!' Sam crooned over him, self-satisfied smirk firmly in place.

'Little bitch,' Dean growled and promptly flipped them both over. Sam just looked amused and vaguely surprised that it had taken Dean this long to decide to get dominant with him. Straightening his arms so that he was fully braced off Sam's body, Dean allowed himself a smile. He had to admit it, Sam looked pretty good underneath him like that. Eager, pliable even, in a way he clearly had never been when they'd been sparring or training or, on those few lamentable occasions, actually fighting.

'Damn good with your mouth, Sam.'

The tip of Sam's tongue emerged to wet his bottom lip and drive Dean just that tiny bit closer to batshit insane. 'Gonna give it to me?'

Dean frowned, though whether it was at the air of challenge being back in their banter, or at the suggestion Sam was pretty obviously making, he wasn't sure. His brain flashed him a vision of how it might be, how debauched his little brother would look with his mouth stretched obscene and beautiful, how sinful it'd feel, how wet and tight and wrongwrongwrongperfect.

Below him, Sam's eyes widened and he surged up from the bed to sit up as much as he could with Dean sprawled on top of him, his hands patting and calming and grounding Dean. _Touch was a grounding force, their Dad had always told them._ 'Hey! Dean, nononono, c'mon, it's okay! That was too soon, right? I shouldn't've said that, I'm sorry. Just, just don't freak on me now, okay? Okay? Dean?'

One little show of possible freak-out on Dean's part and poor Sammy just about blew a gasket. God, they were so fucked.

Dean put his hands on each side of Sam's face and kissed him as softly-hard as he could because he didn't know how to make that moment piss the hell off any other way. Sam clung to him so desperately that their balance started to suffer, then Sam crooked his legs somehow and straightened his long, achy spine and, like magic, Dean was suddenly straddled over Sam's lap while they kissed, their cocks sticky and hot against each other as they started to grind.

They were just starting to get a good rhythm going, kisses turning open-mouthed and sloppy, Sam pulling on both their dicks together, when sirens blared outside and they both froze in complete shock.

His gun! Fuck, his clothes! They needed to scramble and they needed to do it right the fuck away and why the fucking fuck wasn't Sam fucking MOVING?!

'ShhDean…' Red and blue lights swam beyond the flimsy curtains. 'Let 'em find us like this, if they're gonna.'

Dean felt his eyes go wide as he stared at his brother incredulously. _Wasn't I supposed to be the maverick personality in this family?_ He squirmed, twisting on Sam's lap to try and see outside, but of course he'd made sure all the curtains were properly in place. Sam held him close, still trying to soothe him, still – unbelievably – stroking their cocks all slow and purposeful and strong. The car lights arced across the ceiling, bathing them both in colour, then swung around and began to retreat, the sirens carrying away with them, the just-discernible sound of another, out-of-tune car leading them on a merry chase.

Sam let out a long, low breath and grinned so hard it must've hurt. 'Shit, that was close!'

The only thing Dean could think to do in response to that was punch his brother in the shoulder. ' _Close_ , Sam?! What the fuck were you thinking just now?'

Sam's smile only got wider. 'I was thinking how badly I wished I'd let you fuck me before they caught us.'

Dean would've fell clear off the bed if Sam weren't holding him so good.

 

The tiny face was upside down, staring up at Dean with its mouth set in a straight line, making Dean wonder what it was thinking, what it thought of him, what it thought of this. Dean shifted a little and the face moved, trailing across the wide, naked expanse of Sam's shoulder, mesmerising Dean as he watched it.

His hands had shook. God, he hoped Sam hadn't noticed that. They'd shook while he was digging around in his duffel for the tube of slick (yeah, of course he had some – he liked adventurous girls, didn't he?) and they'd shook worse when he coated his fingers and put them where Sam was asking him to. If Sam had noticed, he hadn't said anything about it, and Dean felt a slight stab of shame at feeling so grateful to his brother for that.

He'd tried saying stupid shit to lighten the moment and cover his nerves ("That spell in the big house give you a taste for prison sex or what?"), but the way Sam just wrapped his arms around the pillow, rested his chin on them with a sigh and answered Dean with a simple, honest "Missed you" had made it abundantly clear that this moment wasn't _supposed_ to be lightened. This moment was serious and deep and terrible and clear – this was real.

Dean reached between them and took hold of the base of his dick. The head of it was so close to taking him and Sam into the unknown, Dean just had to quit thinking about it. He moved his hand and dragged his cock over and around Sam's hole a few times; not delaying the inevitable, he told himself, just getting more greased up.

'Dean.' Sam's voice was an intimate little murmur, just barely making it over his shoulder. 'S'okay. I promise.'

 _Clarksville, Tennessee,_ Dean thought. _That's where I fucked my brother the first time._ And the tip of his cock pushed in, slid inside and found Sam's heat waiting for him.

'Wow,' Sam whispered.

'Somethin' like that,' Dean agreed, unable to take his eyes off the little bronze face still staring up at him from where it lay on Sam's shoulder. The next inch was easier than the first and Dean freaked a tiny bit. This wasn't… Not like… Fuck. He pulled back, dick sliding free, and took a deep, shaky breath. 'Turn over.' Was that even his voice? 'C'mon, Sammy. Need to see you.'

Sam was already in the middle of turning over, but shooting him a glare which didn't fit with the sudden obedience. 'Don't call me that _now_ , for chrissake.'

It took Dean a second to realise what he'd said and why Sam should think it so wildly inappropriate, then he smiled and helped push Sam fully over onto his back. Much better. Puppy-dog eyes and stupid hair and longlong throat. That was his Sam. That's what he needed to see, that's who he needed to help him through this. He reached his right hand down Sam's leg and hooked around the back of his knee, lifted it as he settled himself between Sam's spread wide legs.

'Didn't really take you as the missionary kind of guy, Dean.' Dimples and big grin, and _fuck_ , but Dean really, really didn't want to think about how similar Sam's grin was to their Dad's right then. Not if he wanted to stay as hard as he was.

'I'm thinkin' there's gonna be a lot to be said for watching you get all those brains of yours fucked out.'

Alignment, push, slide and Dean watched Sam's grin melt clear away, watched his chin tilt and his eyelids flutter. Sam's hips canted up and his fingers dug in at Dean's waist, hauling him closer, getting him deeper and Dean had to plant his hands flat to the mattress – brace, hold – biceps tense and shaking to stop from falling, from doing harm.

They stilled for a moment or two, just watching each other. Then Dean put his hand back to Sam's knee, helped hold him, and Sam nodded and pulled on the back of Dean's neck until he gave in and tumbled into a kiss.

It was awkward in too many ways. The way Sam wrapped his other leg around Dean's torso was disturbingly similar to how he'd throw Dean during a spar, how he'd pin Dean with his weight like that and surge against him – Dean was gonna get wood every damned time that happened from now on, wasn't he? Unfair advantage, that's what that was. And the way Dean felt so _naked_ like this, not just unclothed, not just vulnerable or whatever, but raw and unfinished. His thrusts were uneven and without finesse, his kisses too dribbly, his thought-to-speech functionality unable to come up with much more than "Fuck" and "Shit" and "SamSamSam".

But for all that… god, for all that, he had Sam all around him, could hear Sam's breath hitching, heard his name said in a completely new and mind-blowing way. Sam met him thrust for thrust, urged him to go faster, told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't made of fuckin' glass and asked for it harder, and harder.

Dean let his weight fall onto one elbow, changing his angle, pressing their chests together, pushing his cock in so hard Sam moaned at the ceiling prettier than any porn star. Dean's amulet was caught between them, the bronze horns on its head digging savagely into both of them as they fucked all loud and sweaty. Thank god the sound of their bodies smacking together was doing such a good job of blanking Dean's brain of any higher functions, otherwise having that amulet, that symbol of their brotherhood, trapped within their rutting like that might've made his stomach heave.

'I'm – Dean! Fuck – Dean!'

There was some remark to be made, Dean was vaguely aware, about college-boy's vocabulary getting all screwed to hell, but then Sam spurted liquid heat between their stomachs and Dean fucked him right through it, felt every tremor, shared every gasp. Dean's only remaining thought after that was for the orgasm he was about to drill into his brother's ass.

 

Dean walked out of the bathroom next morning to find Sam stuffing himself with doughnuts and opening a small parcel wrapped in Harry Potter birthday paper. Beside him, Sam had a small pile of demonology books and Dean almost trotted out one of his favourite Bill Murray lines from Ghostbusters, but eh; Sam probably wouldn't get it anyway. Instead, Dean just stole a doughnut and eyed the package warily.

'Bobby's courier got here,' Sam informed him.

'Awesome. What's my baby's new tag?'

Sam finally got the gift wrapping off and examined the contents within. 'Um, CNK eight-zero Q three?'

'Well, that's not much of a name.' Dean took one of the plates for a better look. 'Ohio? Hardly seems right.'

'Want me to go change 'em?'

'Let you near my car with a screwdriver? I don't fuckin' think so.' Dean leaned over Sam to retrieve the second plate and steal another doughnut. 'I'll be done in ten. Get your shit together and we can hit the road.' He flicked some crumbs into Sam's hair and made for the door before Sam could hit him for it. So normal. No one would ever guess… whatever. He shrugged to himself and left the room.

Dean got to the car and ran his hand lovingly down her side on his way to the trunk. 'Sorry to have to do this to you, baby. I promise I won't throw 'em away.' He poked around in his toolkit and found a screwdriver the right size. A quick check that no one could see him or the car from here, and he set about removing the Kansas plates she'd been wearing for years.

He was just finishing putting on the new plates when Sam's voice came from behind him, 'It's kinda sad to see it with different ones.'

'There better not be any sarcasm in that sentence.'

'None.'

Dean tightened the last screw and stood up straight, flicking a glance over his shoulder at Sam. All their gear was packed and ready, even Dean's leather jacket was tucked under one arm. Looked as though Sammy was as keen to get back out on the open road as Dean was. 'She'll need her pink slip doctorin'.'

Sam nodded. 'I'll take care of it next place we stop.' He smiled softly. 'So just make sure you don't get us pulled over between here and there.'

'Actually, that's gonna be _your_ responsibility.' Dean put the screwdriver and Kansas plates in the trunk and took his jacket and duffel bag off Sam. 'Thought I'd get you to drive for a while.'

The look that got him from Sam was understandably surprised. 'Serious? How come?'

Dean gave him a wink and a smug grin. 'I was drivin' last night.'

Ah, it was good to see the insta-blush that flared on Sam's cheeks at that. He could be as fuck-hungry and demanding in the bedroom as he liked, just so long as he was still easy-to-tease little brother next morning. Some things should just never be allowed to change.

They loaded all their gear into the car and Sam got himself together enough to ask which way they were headed. Dean just held his arms out to indicate, basically, everything around them and told Sam to pick a direction. Sam still hesitated before opening the driver's side door, like he was checking to make sure that Dean really did mean it. The sight of Dean leaning back in the passenger seat with his sunglasses on and a contented look on his face was apparently convincing enough.

For the first few miles, Dean was feeling pretty cocky and good about the world, like it was near on impossible to resist a constant grin. It wasn't like that was an alien sensation; he knew precisely what it was, but his stomach still did a bit of a flip when he thought about it a little deeper. This was how he felt the morning after a particularly awesome hook-up. This was Dean's yeah-I-got-some-just-be-jealous feeling. And a pretty intense one, at that. The sort that usually came after a threesome or a kinky chick or the woman that everyone in the bar had been working on but who chose to leave with Dean. But the person responsible for it this time – fuck.

Dean stealthily watched Sam out of the corner of his eye for a minute. Those impossibly long fingers curled upon his baby's steering wheel, the endless legs, jeans fraying over the right knee, and a crazy thought suddenly occurred to him – was he actually _attracted_ to this guy? Obviously he liked him; for all their digging at each other and annoying the hell out of one another, Sam was still his best friend and always had been. And he loved the guy, of course he did. Dude was his brother, after all. But all this new stuff, the new _urges_ and all that, what did they really mean?

Sam suddenly turned to look at him and caught him staring, even with his sunglasses on. Cockiness gone, Dean was overcome by self-consciousness and felt the need to fidget. The most convenient cover was his box of cassette tapes, so he started rifling around in there and muttering about needing some sounds.

'It's okay, you know.'

'What's that, Sammy?'

'You're allowed to look. If you wanna.'

Dean swallowed hard and kept his gaze firmly on the jumble of tapes in his lap. 'I wasn't looking at anything.' He felt rather than saw Sam's smile.

'I watch you.'

Dean's hands stilled in the cassette box and he looked up sideways at his brother. 'What?'

Sam glanced over at him, smile all lazy, and looked back to the road again. 'When you're driving. When you're playing pool. When you're circling around some random chick in whatever bar we're in. All sorts of times.' He shrugged one shoulder. 'I like looking at you.'

Huh. Dean took his sunglasses off. 'Sam, I gotta ask you something. You can tell me to go to hell if you want, but I still gotta ask.'

'Shoot.'

'What the fuck are we doing?'

'Er… you wanna be a bit more specific there?'

Dean wanted to glare but there didn't seem much point as Sam had his eyes on the road and wouldn't have seen it anyway. 'You know what I mean, Sam! Last night. And the last few weeks and all. I mean, we… Dude. What we did. What _I_ did – '

'You got it right the first time – what WE did. Wasn't like I didn't have anything to do with it, y'know.'

'But why? That's what I can't wrap my head around. I mean, you into guys or what?'

'No. But it looks like I'm into you.'

Dean blinked. 'Yeah, well. You're not supposed to be. Not your brother.'

'People think we're gay all the time.'

'Well, that's a lousy excuse for committing incest!' Shit. Neither of them had used that word in reference to themselves until now. Dean'd been doing his level best to avoid even thinking it. Now there it was, practically hanging in the air between them.

'I wasn't trying to make excuses,' Sam said quietly. They were both silent for a few minutes, just the sounds of the car and the road and their thoughts screaming in their minds. Then Sam started talking again, voice even and careful, like he was scared Dean might bolt. 'People see something when they look at us, Dean. When they watch us interact with each other. I think – I mean, I've never actually asked anyone about it, of course, but what I think they're seeing is two people who are everything to each other. They see how comfortable we are in each other's space, they see our connection and, dude, it's way more than just regular ol' brothers usually have. Folk see that and, I dunno, they come up with the assumption that fits best, I guess. People look at us and see lovers, Dean. We've just… made them right, now. That's all.'

That was a lot to take in, and Dean let himself have the time to chew it over, watching Tennessee suburbs zooming by on each side. 'You're not seriously telling me we did this in order to make complete strangers better guessers?'

Sam turned his head a bit and gave him one of his Don't Be Such A Jerk looks. 'I think we did this because we both wanted to. You gonna tell me I'm wrong about that?'

Dean looked down at the box of tapes again, just for somewhere to look that wasn't Sam. 'Nah. You're not wrong.'

That seemed to satisfy Sam, at least, even though Dean still felt like he didn't have a clear answer to his original question – what the fuck were they doing? Talking about it wasn't helping particularly. Surprise, surprise.

Dean picked up a cassette case that said OZZY in red pen on the spine and popped the tape out. Sam gave him a quick look as he leaned forward and slid the tape into the deck, but didn't say anything. Dean pressed play and turned the volume dial down; his way of letting Sam know talking more wasn't a complete no-go.

'So, um.' Sam let his right hand rest on his thigh and steered with just his left, looking more casual and at ease than he often did when driving Dean's car. Dean's low-volume gesture had clearly been appreciated. 'Can I ask you something now? And please don't tell me to go to hell?'

Dean pushed the box of tapes back under the seat and squirmed to get comfortable. 'Sure you can. Shit, I might even answer it.'

'It's kinda personal.'

Dean shrugged it off. 'I guess we, ah, might be a bit beyond that now, huh?'

'I s'pose. Okay.' Sam pushed his hair out of his eyes and relaxed again. 'It's, um, it's about safe sex.'

Dean was kinda surprised the subject hadn't come up the night before. When he left the mess of his duffel and climbed back into bed with a bottle of lube and hands that wouldn't stop shaking, but no condom. Uh-huh.

'I mean, you are rather…' Sam coughed lightly. 'Promiscuous, Dean.'

'I think the modern term's "Ethical Slut", Sammy.'

'Well, if the shoe fits…'

'Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, fuzzball.'

Sam was already laughing, but he stopped suddenly as he obviously realised where the quote was from. 'Wait – did you just call me Chewbacca? Dude, I am NOT Chewbacca!'

'Course you are! I'm Han Solo. You're my co-pilot, right? That totally makes you the Wookiee in this relationship.' Sam shot him a prissy glare, but it didn't last. They were just too relaxed together right now, Dean supposed.

'Whatever.' Sam waved his hand dismissively and tried to get them back on topic. 'Safe sex, Dean. We didn't do it. Last night, I mean. And I know it's not like you're in any danger of getting me knocked up or anything but, y'know, there's other stuff to consider and – '

'I'm clean, Sam, I promise you. You honestly think I'd put you in harm's way like that if I wasn't?'

Sam had the good grace to look contrite.

'I've never had unprotected sex,' Dean continued. Sam flashed him a look. 'I mean not before last night, obviously. I wouldn't lie to you about it, Sam. You know that.'

'Will it piss you off at all if I say that surprises me a bit?'

Dean shrugged. 'Think what you want. But it's the truth. I've been careful. Dad drummed it into me since the first time I looked twice at a girl. Good soldier needs to take care of himself, keep himself in peak condition, steer clear of infection, yadda yadda. Hell, he bought me my first condoms when I was thirteen!'

'Hey, he never did that for me!'

'He knew I'd take care of that for you.'

'Dude. Bouncing a pack of Trojans off the top of my head when I had Shelly Carmichael over for a study date was NOT taking care of me! She came from a church family, Dean, she didn't even know what they were. Thought they were candies of some sort.'

Dean smirked at the memory. 'Well, they _were_ cherry-flavoured, if I remember right.'

'Mortifying,' Sam muttered.

'Awesome,' Dean agreed. He laughed softly, nostalgia and affection toward his brother making his face warmer, then sobered sufficiently to give Sam no doubt. 'You're the first person I've ever come inside. You have my word, Sam.'

The bluntness of his admission, and the gravitas with which he said it, must have set Sam's mind at ease on the whole issue, for he nodded a bit, smiled a little in Dean's direction and turned up the volume on the Ozzy Osbourne tape.

 

Aimlessly, they ended up in Lafayette, Indiana, at a motel with a fruit theme and a nice, road-tripping, honeymooning couple in the room next door, the husband of which was almost literally salivating over the Impala as the Winchesters rolled up.

Beers were procured and chairs were dragged outside the rooms so that Dean and the husband, Ray, could talk cars while Sam and the wife, Kristy, exchanged sympathetic looks and eventually got to chatting about cities of the mid-West. Ray and Kristy looked a little surprised when informed that Sam and Dean were brothers, but graciously kept it to a minimum. Pizza was ordered and delivered and the early evening passed as innocuously and pleasant as any in recent memory. Life, Dean decided around seven-thirty and his fourth beer, was pretty damned fine. All they needed was a case to be workin' and things might even be dangerously close to perfect.

They tried to be quiet that night, all too aware of nice Ray and nice Kristy on the other side of the thin, watermelon papered wall, but they got hot and reckless before they knew it. And it really wasn't their fault that the bed made all that noise. Dean couldn't exactly be held accountable for how loud his swearing got, either, far as he was concerned; it was the first time he'd ever felt his brother's pouty mouth pulling slickly on his cock, after all. Just how quiet was a man expected to be, given those circumstances?

So, Kristy looked a bit shell-shocked when she bid them farewell next morning. So, Ray's smile looked definitely forced as he waved from their room door. They were nice people, but to hell with 'em. Dean had a swagger that would make a nun blush and Sammy's grin was so bright he could've blinded oncoming traffic, so what the fuck did Dean care what anyone thought of them?

 

Joliet, Illinois helped make two things absolutely clear in Dean's mind. His job meant more to him than his own personal happiness. And being close to Sam was more important than anything, anything else.

'Mom never died, we never went hunting and you and me just never... you know.'

'Yeah. Well… I'm glad we do.'

Glad. That word hovered over Dean for the next few days. Though not so much as Sam did. Dean was badly dehydrated after hanging around in the djinn's lair for a couple of days and to call his shoulders stiff was his understatement of the year, but he still didn't feel that Sam's fussing nursemaid act was particularly warranted. He could see Sam's point of view though – if Dean hadn't dug himself out of the fantasy Lawrence, Sam would've lost him, and Dean could all too easily imagine how he'd feel if it was the other way around. So he put up with Sam treating him with kid gloves for a day or two, let Sam administer a near constant supply of water and vitamin drinks, didn't complain about the hovering and the lack of personal space. He knew damned well that he'd be twice as bad if their roles were reversed.

Predictably, it was the lack of sex that got to him.

'Dean – c'mon, man, don't do this now. I'm not sure you've got your strength back yet…'

'I feel fine, Sam, quit babying me! Now get your ass over here. This cock's not gonna suck itself, y'know.'

Ah, Bitchface Number Three! Sam had the patent on that one. Had done since he was about seven. It was the look that usually meant Dean was being a complete dick and he knew it and Sam knew it and despite that he was still gonna get his way, probably simply because he was the oldest, and he knew that and Sam knew that and they could go round in circles like this for hours or even days, on occasion, if the situation called for it.

Sam put his hands on his hips and let the bitchface morph into almost-affectionate exasperation. There were times, Dean could swear, Sam's lips were the exact shade of the strip of strawberry icecream in a tub of cheap Neapolitan. He wondered briefly if Sam would appreciate being informed of that or not, quickly decided on "not", and settled for simply patting the space on the bed beside him.

Amazingly, Sam caved. Perhaps it was possible, Dean considered as he watched his brother cross the room in just a few strides, that Sam was as horny as he was after four days of going without. Sure, Sam had gone a year and a half between Jess and Madison, but the amount of times Dean caught him with porn or ragged on him for his long showers during that period had made it pretty clear he wasn't numb from the neck down just because he was in mourning. And considering that they both now had an available, willing body practically on tap whenever they felt frisky, it kinda made ignoring the urge a helluva lot harder than it used to be.

The fussy nursemaid wasn't entirely gone from Sam's demeanour though, and he stopped just short of throwing himself on Dean when he got to the bed, opting instead for kneeling at Dean's side and giving him the hungriest look anyone had shot Dean's way in maybe four whole months.

'Just how good you really feelin'?'

Dean let his head fall back against the headboard and smirked. 'Gimme a feel and see for yourself.'

Strawberry icecream smile, and Sam's eyes seemed to get two shades greener in the space of half a second. 'You flirtin' with me, Dean? I mean honest to god _flirting_?'

'I'm a playful kinda guy, lil' brother. Ya never noticed before? I'm surprised at you!'

Sam took in a deep breath, eyes still locked to Dean's, smile turning sexier by the moment. 'Missed you,' he rumbled, not for the first time.

The word "glad" hovered about Dean again. Then Sam leaned in close and kissed him – a soft press of mouths first, one light nibble, then a full-on, hard, insistent tonsil exploration that might've made Dean melt a bit, if he was some kind of girl.

'Wanna… Dean, can I… ?'

'Spit it out, Sam. You can say it.'

Sam laughed at himself and shook his head. 'Not so sure about that.'

Dean slid his hands up the sides of Sam's throat, brushed his thumbs along the curve of Sam's jaw. 'Say it, and I'll let you do it.'

'Gotta…' Sam swallowed hard and tried again. 'Need to be in you, Dean. Gotta fuck you.'

'Attaboy.'

Sam crushed their mouths back together almost before Dean had even finished speaking, his hands already at Dean's zipper. Little brother's patience had run out, it seemed. Dean just went with it. Just gave up completely and let Sam do what he liked, let Sam move him and strip him and put him where he wanted, how he wanted, let Sam finger-fuck him with those freaky long fingers, let Sam suck on his collarbones and tell Dean what a fuckable pretty mouth he had. It wasn't the first time anyone had told Dean that, but having the words tumble out of _Sammy's_ mouth – shit, that was so hot, it made Dean moan.

'You ever done this before?' Dean asked as Sam put him on his side and settled behind him.

'Ah, no? Me and Jess tried it once. Um, I was too big.'

Dean craned his head to look over his shoulder. How Sam could manage to look so sheepish while clearly being hornier than a dog, Dean had no idea. 'Hit me with your best shot, dude.'

Fuck, he _was_ big! But gentle in the extreme, just like Dean suspected he would be. So gentle, in fact, that Dean had to resort to ordering him around to get him to actually push it in and fuck him.

'You can't hurt me, man. Just keep going. Come on!'

'Hold still! Jesus!' Sam made some impatient noises and Dean felt the slip and drag of the couple of successful inches falling away from his body. Sam swore filthily and lined himself up for another go. Dean's mouth actually fell open in something stupidly close to what felt like awe as his body was breached fully and he twisted to look over his shoulder again, needing to see Sam's face as they did this. There was no more fumbling or messing about, just rock hard cock shoving into him rough and sure, Sam pinning him with his dick and his hands and the scorching look he was giving him. The enormity of what was happening hit Dean like a punch. He was gonna get pounded right through this fucking mattress, and he was gonna love every goddamn moment of it.

'Tell me how good it is,' Sam grinned.

Dean reached back to grasp at Sam's thigh as they began to move together. 'Shut up and fuck me.'

'Yessir.' Sam's grin got bigger and Dean tried to keep his cool just a little longer.

Cool, unsurprisingly, went straight out the window when Dean got his first taste of how it felt to have something so large nudging at his prostate. If he did actually howl, he just had to hope that Sam would do the decent thing and not mention it afterwards.

Sam wrapped his arms tight around Dean and moaned against his ear, told him how good he felt, how hot he was, how he didn't think he'd last long 'cos it was just too much, too fucking much. And Dean closed his eyes and lost himself in it, in the stretch and burn, in the hardness and the slick. He tried rubbing his cock in time to Sam's thrusts, but his rhythm sucked out loud and he just held it instead, felt his precome trickling over his hand, practically jumped outta his skin when Sam's hand suddenly wrapped around his own.

'Yeah, Dean. Like that. Come for me. Let me feel it.'

Dean always had responded well to a direct order.

 

Dean could hardly believe how sore his ass was, or how much he didn't care. Sam was lying on his back at Dean's side, panting, one forearm flung over his eyes as he fought to get his breathing under control. Dean rolled uncomfortably and tried to find something to wipe himself up with. The shirt Sam had been wearing earlier was perfect. When he got himself a little less sticky and threw Sam's shirt back to the floor, he found Sam watching him with a look not entirely dissimilar to the awestruck expression with which he used to watch Dean strip a gun in half a minute when they were kids.

The kiss was inevitable.

'This is probably the orgasm talking,' Sam told him when they broke for air, 'but I have this urge to say some of the sloppiest fuckin' stuff to you right now, man.'

'That's definitely the orgasm talking.'

Sam sighed heavily, a contented sound, and gazed at Dean. 'You know you're the most complicated person I've ever known, Dean?' He stroked the pad of his thumb along Dean's bottom lip.

'It's just 'cos I'm awesome.'

Sam laughed a little breathlessly, his eyes shining. 'Yeah,' he agreed. 'I guess so.' He hauled Dean half on top of himself, gave him a fleeting squeeze and let him go again so it was then up to Dean whether he wanted to stay there or not. It was a little detail, a small consideration, but Dean noticed and appreciated it.

'So, ah, being complicated's a good thing?'

'Certainly not a bad thing,' Sam confirmed.

'And getting cornholed by my lil' brother – that makes me complicated?'

Sam gave him a lazy smile. 'Certainly doesn't make things simple.'

 _Hrm. No._ But it did make them good.

 

When Dean finally found words to explain it, at least to himself, about a week or so later, the one description he kept coming back to was "solid". Their connection was solid. Their bond was true and reliable and solid, solid, solid. He hadn't felt this close to his brother literally in years. He could build defences out of a solidarity like this. There was maybe even a future to be made out of it.

But it wasn't like his brain had taken all the files marked "Sam" and moved them out of the folder entitled "Little Brother" and put them into another with a more updated title – "Available Warm Body" perhaps, or "First Gay Lay", or even "Hot Dude Who Won't Blow My Cover". Sam was still someone to tease about girls and clowns and needing a haircut. Sam was still prissy about his stuff and the master of bitchfaces and stealer of blankets. He was still Sasquatch and Princess and Samantha.

It was just that, now, he was also Holyfuckinggod! and Lover and MINE.

 

It was kinda stupid, really, trying to fit two big, six-foot-plus guys into the backseat of the Impala at the one time. But it was late afternoon on a lonely stretch of road, and the drizzle was coming down steady, and Dean and Sam had nowhere urgent to be. And, of course, Sammy was a stubborn sonofabitch, so if he said they were gonna fit back there, Dean's baby had better let them.

'Best mouth ever, Dean. Ever! God…'

Dean hollowed his cheeks more and let Sam push up, let Sam cover the back of his head with one splayed-wide paw and hold him there for a moment.

'Uh! Get up here and kiss me, for fuck's sake.'

Dean went where he was pushed and pulled, his lips still shiny with Sam's precome, and let Sam kiss him hard and gentle and everything in between. 'Mouth like a wetdream, I swear…'

Dean couldn't help but laugh softly at that. Mouth like Dean's – most guys who met him either wanted to punch it or get their cock in it. It was one of the occupational hazards of being such a handsome devil, so he was kinda used to being complimented on it or at least leered at because of it. He still wasn't particularly blasé about Sam being so into it, though, and he wondered if that novelty might never wear off, if the thrill that gave him would ever dissipate.

When they were done with the backseat and had cleaned up enough to be part-way presentable in public once more, they clambered back into the front, wiped the condensation from the windows and decided they really, really needed to eat. Rain was coming down thick and fast and evening had closed in by the time they found the first available place, a truckstop diner tucked away from the road, accessible only by slippery duckboards flung across the flooded parking lot.

Dean pulled some money out of his wallet and handed the folded bills to Sam. 'Don't forget the extra onions this time, hm?'

'Dude. I'm the one who's gotta ride in the car with your extra onions.'

'And see if they've got any pie! Bring me some pie!' Dean turned up Boston on the radio and smiled at the square acre of Sam's shoulders hunched against the rain. There were probably a million things not right about this relationship and maybe only a couple that weren't entirely wrong, but Dean felt like they just might be able to make it. 'Love me some pie,' he told himself contentedly.

 

**Epilogue – The Missing Words**

  
'Gone and got your family killed, all alone in the world.' She smirked harder, teeth sharp as she ate him up with her eyes. 'Well, it's just too sweet. Excuse me, gonna have to give me a moment. Sometimes you just have to stop and smell the roses.'

'I should send you straight back to hell.'

'Oh, you should! But you won't. And I know why. Following in Daddy's footsteps, and with the guilty side-dish of a particular mortal sin on your conscience, you wanna make a deal. Little Sammy back from the dead and, let me guess, you want us to change him just enough that he forgets all about this tiny experiment you two made with the subject of incest? And in return for this, I suppose you figure on offering up your own soul?'

'There's a hundred other demons would like to get their hands on it. And it's all yours, all you gotta do is bring Sam back how he was before all this happened and give me ten years. Ten years and then you come for me.'

'You must be joking.'

'It's the same deal you give everybody else.'

'You're not everybody else. Why would I want to give a brother fucker like you anything? Keep your gutter soul, it's too tarnished anyway.'

'Wait.'

**Author's Note:**

> Written for j2_spn_100days.livejournal.com's "J2/SPN 100 Days of Summer Challenge", held in September 2008.


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